The Snow on Christmas Morning
by Once Upon a Whim
Summary: December 2425, 2006. Companion piece to last year's A Winter's Night


**Companion piece for last year's "**A Winter's Night**." What can I say? I listen to too much melancholy Christmas music. (Not necessary to have read the other story first, but it might help clarify one small bit in here)**

Unbetaed, apologies for any errors.

Happy Holidays to all :)

Luke shivered, exhaling sharply into the bitterly cold night. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and dropped his chin lower to cover as much of his exposed face in his scarf as possible.

It hadn't been a horrible evening, visiting with Liz, TJ, and Doula, he admitted to himself. If ever there was an occasion for extravagant Renaissance-era decorations, Christmas was as good an occasion as any, and Liz had actually succeeded in keeping hers to at least within the neighborhood of tasteful. Most of the hors d'oeuvres and sweets had been store-bought, thankfully, so fat- and sugar-laden as they were, Luke had been happy to choke them down in place of anything Liz could have come up with on her own.

Yes, it had been very generous of Liz to invite him over for a small Christmas Eve celebration before they took off for TJ's brother's place for Christmas Day. After all, it was Doula's first Christmas, and though she certainly would have no recollection of it, Luke was genuinely glad to have been a part of that milestone in her life. If nothing else, somewhere down the line, she'd be able to look at the photo of herself with her Uncle Luke, which he had only begrudgingly succumbed to, on her first Christmas. Never mind that having the infant shoved into his arms had only served to highlight that he was just that — Uncle Luke. Poor, lonely, old Uncle Luke, who had to be taken pity on and invited to his sister's house because he had nowhere else to go for the holidays.

Luke kicked some snow out of the way, his boots crunching in the icy mix that coated the small footbridge across the lake. The cold spell that had descended the night before had certainly sped up the freezing process of the small lake, he noted absently. Only one thin patch remained, just over the deepest part of the lake, and people would surely be skating on it within a couple weeks if the cold held.

He sighed again, his breath melting the few sparse flakes of snow that had had the misfortune of falling in the vicinity of his face. The diner was finally in sight across the square, and he picked up his pace a bit.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Liz's invitation to visit them on Christmas Eve; she'd had nothing but good intentions, he knew. It was her attempt at making him feel included, and to keep his mind off the New Mexico fiasco and the fact that April wasn't spending any of her holiday break with him. 

That and the fact that for the past two Christmases he _had_ had a place to go.

But Luke quickly pushed that thought from his mind. If he was going to let melancholy nostalgia get the best of him, he preferred to reminisce about Christmases from further in the past — the Christmases that actually _were_ Christmas to him.

It had always been his favorite holiday when he'd been a small child. Not even necessarily the holiday itself, but the build-up to it. He'd still had school until a few days before the actual holiday, but that hadn't mean that each day after school his mother hadn't been waiting for him with something to do, like set up their nativity scene, trim the tree, wrap gifts, or help his father hang the lights outside. And then the actual holiday traditions — a special Christmas Eve dinner at home, opening one present each, Midnight Mass, and then going to bed unable to fall asleep knowing that Santa was on his way. He and Liz would tear into their presents at 6 am, and then they'd all go to his grandparents house, where there would be dinner and more presents and a smattering of aunts, uncles and cousins. Even grumpy Uncle Louie would show up, and maybe even smile once in a while.

Luke snorted at his own reminiscing, jerked back into the reality of the present day by the jingle of the door bell as he let himself into the darkened diner. He was as guilty as anyone of sugar-coating memories, but in his mind, things had been perfect during the holidays when his mother had still been alive. Right down to every Christmas having been snowy, with soft, newly fallen snow mantling the trees as they'd all gathered around the fireplace.

The weather, at least, was doing its part this year. The happy family part, not so much.

Giving the empty diner a once over, Luke began his ascent of the stairs to his apartment. He let himself in, underwhelmed, as ever, by the absence of anything festive in his home. What was the point, he reasoned. This year, he fully expected to sit at home and do nothing more than take inventory of the storeroom downstairs, possibly read a book, or maybe watch some inane program on TV. The bright spot was sure to be the phone call he'd scheduled with April, but even that would be in the evening, with nearly 24 hours to kill before then.

He could see the snow falling harder outside, and knew that they'd be having the first white Christmas in a while. Not that he cared, particularly. Just meant that he'd have shoveling to do the next time he wanted to take the truck anywhere.

But Lorelai's probably loving it, Luke heard his mind say, unwarranted.

Though he knew she would be, he pushed that idea from his thoughts. The last thing he needed to do, pathetic and alone on Christmas Eve, was to start lamenting the status of his non-relationship with Lorelai.

Determined to keep his mind off his ex-fiancée, Luke didn't even bother turning on the lights as he made his way across his apartment. He shed his clothes as he crossed the small apartment, and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt once he'd reached his dresser.

Sleep was routine. Christmas or not, he had to sleep at some point. And it would keep his mind from dwelling on all the things he wasn't doing this Christmas.

Climbing into bed, not really all that sleepy — tired, yes, weary, yes, sleepy, no — Luke attempted to will himself to sleep.

It didn't work.

He tossed and turned, unable to let sleep overtake him.

The TV wasn't an option; he'd unplugged it as soon as the person he'd gotten it for was no longer a fixture in his apartment.

He could try drinking warm milk, but most things that came out of mugs generally reminded him of someone who'd always seemed to have one in her hand at any given moment.

A change of scenery and sleeping in the other bed across the apartment might have offered some relief, were it not for the fact that the other bed now belonged to someone whose initial appearance had set off the horrific spiral of events that had finally led to him driving away the other important someone in his life.

Even going to the bathroom would yield unwelcome memories of a particular someone's gratefulness for the shelves he'd installed. And subsequently uninstalled when they were no longer in use by that someone.

He was wallowing, and deep down he knew it. But admitting that to himself would be succumbing to the fact that for ages he'd been told by the object of his wallowing that the only cure was ice cream, pizza, and girly movies. And he couldn't have that — neither the junk food, nor the reminder of that person.

A glance at the clock told him that he'd already been fighting insomnia for over two hours.

Luke groaned and pulled a pillow over his face out of sheer exasperation. Though it only worsened his mood. It was her pillow that he had draped over his head. Any other time he'd found himself in that position had had her playfully holding it there, which wasn't even all that bad, because with it over his face, he'd been able to smell the sweet scent of her shampoo, or whatever hair goo it was that she'd always used.

That was the worst part, he admitted. It wasn't her pillow anymore. Hadn't been for a while. He couldn't smell her on it any more. Hell, he used it as much as his own now; why stay on one side of the bed when there was no one taking up the other side?

Yanking the pillow from over his face, Luke glanced down. Sure enough, he'd taken to sprawling out in the middle of his wide bed. For no particular reason, he slid himself over to 'his' side. Though if he were to be honest, they hadn't really had set sides; he had been just as likely to end up on one side as the other. Mostly he just wanted to picture, remember the feel, of having that someone there beside him. That he'd done before. If he was lost inside his head enough, if he was tired enough, lonely enough, he could almost feel the slight sag of the mattress from her weight, sense the extra warmth under the quilt from having an extra body, smell that shampoo-y scent.

But not tonight. He could blame it on the fact that he was nowhere near sleep yet, but in all reality, he knew. He knew it had been too long. The months that had gone by had left those memories to fade, anything left just intangible scenes engrained in his mind.

Another hour or so passed, sleep still not coming.

Luke sat up suddenly, tossing off the covers. It was no use. Lorelai had permeated his night, and there was no escaping it. Christmas had permeated his night — Lorelai and Christmas had snuck into his thoughts, ensconcing themselves there, determined to keep him awake.

It had been one of her favorite holidays — she was as giddy as a child over even small things, Christmas was no different. 

There had been the Christmas two years ago: their relationship still relatively new, Rory home, and Lorelai reluctant to pull the rug out from under her daughter and give up their long-standing mother-daughter movie-watching and crack-of-dawn present opening traditions of Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. And Luke himself had been uncomfortable with the notion of intruding anyway. Still it hadn't seemed right to not include each other in holiday plans. In the end it had meant Luke crept into the girls' house — and Lorelai's bed — well after midnight, only to leave before dawn, after having exchanged gifts with her in the privacy of her room. He'd come back, of course, for dinner later in the day, content with that degree of inclusion in the girls' festivities.

And last year. Closer to the family Christmases of his childhood than anything else: sitting on the couch with both Lorelai and Rory, downing pizza right along with them as holiday movies played one after the other. Creeping around by the soft glow of Christmas lights with Lorelai, arranging gifts for Rory and Paul Anka beneath the tree after they'd long since gone to bed. Ripping open gifts on the floor the next morning, giving the crumpled papers scraps to Paul Anka to play with.

Pity he'd been so close to a real family Christmas, only to have it be his last. Pity he was too distracted to truly enjoy or participate. Pity it had been his last because of that perpetual distraction.

And even before, there had been Santa burgers, and town processions, and ridiculous dinner stagings with sleigh rides.

And, once upon a time, there had been musings, those barest whispers of a hope or wish for future Christmases: a blue-eyed child or two, personality as vibrant as their mother's, bounding into their parents' bedroom at 5am, anxious to see what Santa had left. Those same children, smeared with frosting, hair streaked with flour while Dad supervised the making of Christmas cookies, and Mom the eating.

Luke's chest ached somewhere deep inside at the memories that were never to be.

He had to get out. Out of his apartment, out of his head.

Despite the fact that he hadn't slept and that the pink light of dawn had yet to begin its encroachment on the edges of the sky, Luke pulled on his boots, his hat, some gloves, a jacket, and headed downstairs.

Never mind that he had to pass the counter over which he'd leaned hundreds of times for a quick hello or goodbye kiss.

He quickly exited the diner, ignoring the jingle of the bells that he'd come to so closely associate with one particular customer.

Once on the sidewalk, his gaze darted about, his feet not sure where his head wanted him to go.

But he made sure to not glance in the direction of the gazebo in which an engagement had once been celebrated with a certain ex-fiancée. 

And, in time, when his feet eventually set him wandering aimlessly, he was careful to not venture down the street on which a particular brick house he'd once bought and un-bought was located.

He dodged Taylor's house and the adjacent rose bushes where he'd finally caught up to Kirk just moments after having kissed a certain someone — twice — for the first time.

Off limits was the road down which the vet's house was, where he'd frantically carried the beloved, chocolate-snatching, canine of that same someone.

Luke also studiously avoided the church, where bells were once broken, the movie theatre, where he'd once ignored pleas for forgiveness, the Dragonfly, where things long since ended had begun.

In all his meticulous avoidance of certain places, there was one certain place that Luke's internal GPS didn't remember to avoid.

For as the soft pink light of dawn crept up into the sky and faded into the oranges and yellows that surely brought with them dozens of children around town clambering to open presents, a festively decorated gnome peeking out from beneath a blanket of newly fallen snow alerted him to his location. His gaze jerked upwards. Sure enough, he'd meandered his way to Babette's lawn, and of course, a certain house lay just beyond.

Sucking in a quick breath, Luke took in the scene in front of him, and carefully ducked back towards the hedges, lest he be seen.

Out in the snow, with picture-perfect snow-draped trees as a backdrop, was Lorelai and a small girl that Luke could only assume was Gigi, or whatever her name was. They were haphazardly dressed, he could tell, with Lorelai's hair a tangled mess as it peeked out from beneath her woolen cap, and Gigi's long, blonde pigtails loose and askew beneath hers. Their cheeks were flushed pinks from the cold as they tossed armfuls of snow into the air, lobbing snowballs at each other while Paul Anka frolicked beside them.

Lorelai had never looked more beautiful to him. Or happier. She'd reconciled with snow, obviously, and now had the family she'd always wanted to share it with.

Luke stood, frozen, sure he could picture, if he squinted hard enough, the darker haired child that should have been with Lorelai in a scene like that. A darker haired little girl tackling Lorelai for a big, snowy hug instead of the little blonde one.

A voice from the porch drew him out of his reverie, shattering his daydream and bringing him back to the reality that was.

Christopher, in sweatpants and a t-shirt not at all dissimilar to his own, stood in the front doorway, clutching two steaming mugs and yelling something that Luke couldn't quite decipher. The message had to have been clear to the girls, however, as wide smiles broke out on both Lorelai's and Gigi's faces, and a swat on the rear from Lorelai sent Gigi scrambling up the porch to her father.

Lorelai, slower to get up, followed not far behind, heading up towards the house to join her husband.

Luke sighed. It was never going to be easy, seeing them like that. It was never going to be easy, knowing that he'd missed out. But, he told himself as he turned to leave, she was happy. She got what she'd always wanted, the whole package. He couldn't fault her if it just so happened that the package didn't include him. It was his issue to deal with now, alone. If she at least was happy, he'd at least have that to hang on to, knowing that letting go had been the right thing for her in the long run. It's why he'd broken down and let April send that card, adding his note on impulse at the last minute.

It was never going to be easy, he knew, trudging back the way he'd come. But she was happy. And for her, he couldn't have asked for more. She was happy.

In turning around, resigned to but accepting of his life — and her life — as they now were, what he missed was Lorelai, having run back out of the house to collect a stubborn Paul Anka, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of a green army jacket walking off into the snow.

"Luke?"

But Luke didn't hear the disbelieving, plaintive whisper.

Nor did he see the blue eyes that he'd once gazed into so often, the ones he'd once hoped to see reflected in the dark-haired children he'd once dreamt of, fill with tears and spill over onto cheeks that he'd once kissed and nuzzled more times than he could count.

"Merry Christmas, Luke…"

He didn't hear that either. 

"_This is how I see you,  
In the snow on Christmas morning.  
Love and happiness surround you,  
As you throw your arms up to the sky.  
I keep this moment by and by.  
I miss you now, my love."_  
Wintersong

**The End**


End file.
